


signed confessions

by nightbirdrises



Series: Sinking 'verse [15]
Category: Glee
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-28
Updated: 2014-09-28
Packaged: 2018-02-19 01:48:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,209
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2369927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nightbirdrises/pseuds/nightbirdrises
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Do you really?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	signed confessions

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings for this segment: if you count blowjobs and facials as warnings, then that's all there is
> 
> You can read Sinking in chronological order using [this page](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/sinking), or you can read it in the order of events as I wrote them [here](http://princehummel.tumblr.com/tagged/v%3A+sinking/chrono).

"What the fuck was that?"

Blaine huffed out a laugh against the back of Kurt’s neck and trailed his finger along the skin of his back again in the same pattern. Kurt lifted himself on one elbow to more easily turn and glare at Blaine, who lifted an eyebrow, waiting.

"Did you seriously just draw a dick on my back?"

 **Maybe** , Blaine signed playfully, feigning complete innocence. Kurt groaned as he flopped back down, his face buried in one of his pillows.

"Here I thought you were a mature gentleman," he mumbled, voice muffled by fabric. "Take this seriously before I start to feel embarrassed for doing this at all."

Blaine nodded to himself, thinking. He was stretched along Kurt’s side, both of them shirtless. His elbow had started to hurt a while ago from keeping himself propped up to draw shapes and words on Kurt’s back, but he didn’t mind. It was one of  _those_  days, one with snow drifting lazily outside the window and with the best warmth to be found right there, pressed close to his boyfriend’s side and doing absolutely nothing.

An idea came to mind and Blaine grinned in spite of himself. He traced a word into Kurt’s back, finger dipping and rising with the contours of his body — five letters.

"H-home?" Kurt guessed, settling his chin on his arms, which he’d crossed in front of him on top of the pillow. "Is that what it says?"

Blaine drew an X to indicate ‘no,’ still smiling in anticipation.

"It does start with an H?"

Blaine drew a check mark.

"Okay… Hooters." Blaine shoved at Kurt’s shoulder as he started to snicker into the pillow. "Sorry. Write me a hint."

At the end of the bed sat Blaine’s rather worn-out dry-erase board; he grabbed it and wrote,  _a pet name that is perfect for you but you’ll kill me if I ever actually use it._

Kurt reached back without turning around to take the board from Blaine’s hands. He read it and Blaine swore he could see the corner of his mouth quirking up at the message (not that Kurt would ever admit to such a thing).

"It’s ‘honey,’ isn’t it?" Kurt asked, and Blaine traced another check mark. "Should’ve known."

Blaine leaned up, stretching to add to the board,  _Maybe I call you that out loud sometimes and you have no idea._

"You’re a little shit."

 _I love you too_ , Blaine thought, surprising himself. Actually, no, it wasn’t that much of a surprise. The notion had been with him for some time already, the idea that maybe, just maybe, he was in love with Kurt Hummel. He worried, though, that it was too soon. Not to mention that he was terrified that Kurt wouldn’t feel the same way.

So instead of communicating in words — written, mouthed, or signed — to Kurt, he communicated it through touch, drawing abstract, soothing patterns on Kurt’s skin and reveling in the closeness of it.

The anchor tattoo on his right hip had healed in the month since he’d gotten it, and it was a constant presence that never completely left his mind, particularly not when he was so near the inspiration for it. Kurt often stroked the area, apparently without thought, when they kissed. And his hand brushed gently over it now as Kurt turned onto his side to face Blaine, settling at the waistband of his jeans and gripping feather-light.

"It’s almost Valentine’s Day," he hummed quietly, lips mere centimeters from Blaine’s. "Got any plans?"

Blaine wrapped his arm around Kurt’s torso to trace a last check mark, then pulled him close, accidentally bumping their noses together and pulling a laugh from Kurt.

"Slick," he chuckled, then he pressed their lips together chastely. "Hey, didn’t you have something you wanted to show me?"

Blaine’s eyes widened as he nodded, disentangling himself from Kurt to slide off the bed. It took a moment to remember where he’d put it, but he found his bag hanging meekly on the doorknob, inside which he knew was a small collection of new bow ties that he wanted to show Kurt. He’d started to wear them more and more since Kurt expressed his approval of them (and his love for taking them off), so he wanted some input as to which he should wear.

And maybe he could try one or two of them on now, in front of Kurt, wearing nothing but a bow tie and his jeans. He grinned to himself; no way would he be able to get through more than one, ah,  _demonstration_  that way.

But Blaine turned around, thinking through the signs he’d have to make so he wouldn’t make a silly error, and caught Kurt doing something with one of his hands. Signing, just a single gesture that Blaine still remembered from his long-ago research, almost too quick and hasty for him to recognize — but he knew exactly what it was.

**I love you**

Blaine opened his mouth purely out of instinct to say something and found himself standing with his lips parted and the bow ties held loosely in his hand as he stared at Kurt, who raised an eyebrow, bemused.

"What?"

So either Kurt didn’t realize that he’d seen, or thought that Blaine didn’t know the sign yet. Either way, Blaine had no idea what to do — respond? Not-so-subtly ask what he was doing? Forget about it?

 **Nothing** , he signed after a moment, slinging the bow ties over his shoulder so he could use his hands. **I bought some new bow ties.**

 **I see** , Kurt signed back, clearly more in his element this way even though he slowed up considerably so that Blaine could understand; sign language wasn’t exactly easy.  **And…**

**What do you think?**

Blaine pulled one tie from his shoulder — silver-striped navy — and presented it to Kurt, who hummed appreciatively.

 **Subtle but not boring. I approve.**  Blaine grinned, tossing it to Kurt, who didn’t even flinch as it landed on his ass.  **Nice.**  “Bigshot football player,” he added out loud, smirking. Blaine stuck out his tongue.

 **This one?**  he asked a moment later, holding up a white bow tie patterned with four-leaf clovers.

**You’re not Irish, B.**

**How do you know?**  Blaine pouted; Kurt rolled his eyes.  **I could be.**

 **Whatever. It’s a fun design, just don’t wear it to a gala.** Kurt spoke as he signed, and Blaine did his best to catch and store the signs used for ‘design’ and ‘gala’ in his memory. Little by little, he was getting there.

 **Because I’m invited to so many** , Blaine signed.

The next few bow ties were also approved, one or two rather reluctantly, and Blaine soon found himself back in bed with Kurt, the sign from earlier resting heavily in his thoughts.

Kurt was sitting up against the headboard and drawing absently on his own board. Blaine sat, content yet anxious, against his side, hands fidgeting with a loose thread in the sheet. Something nudged his shoulder and suddenly Kurt’s board was being placed in his lap and lips were brushing his temple.

 _You ok? You’re going to unravel my sheets soon_ , he read off the board and turned his head to give Kurt a look, who shrugged. "High thread count," he muttered awkwardly. "It’s expensive."

Blaine smiled without thinking and returned his attention to the board.  _I’m fine_ , he wrote, mentally wincing at how obvious he was being, but maybe he wanted Kurt to call him out.

Sure enough, Kurt huffed and leaned across him to scrawl  _LIAR_ across the bottom of the board. Blaine took a deep breath, dropped the board back into Kurt’s lap, and stared down at his hands. With his luck, they’d shake too violently to sign anything recognizable, or possibly and inexplicably fall off.

"Get a grip," he told himself, hoping that Kurt wasn’t watching his lips. Thankfully he wasn’t; Kurt’s eyes were fixed on Blaine’s hands as well, his lips drawn tight as if expecting Blaine to break up with him via sign language or something. Oh god, he probably was — a part of Blaine knew that Kurt, for all his straight-backed confidence, held the assumption that he’d lose every good thing sooner rather than later (or not at all).

Blaine understood — Kurt had lost his mother, his hearing, even a host of potential friends in the disbanded New Directions — but it still hurt a little that Kurt could expect to lose Blaine like this. He didn’t like to think about what could happen next year, which was fast approaching.

He didn’t even know what Kurt had planned for after graduation. Or if he even planned on graduating at all.

Now his thoughts were just rambling and Kurt’s eyes had started to dart around the room uncomfortably, so Blaine gave up on thinking altogether. He leaned gently into Kurt to get his attention back, and signed slowly (deliberately, nervously, as though the gesture would somehow pitch him off a cliff, blind to his destination),  **I love you too.**

Kurt froze next to him, his breath stopping for a few seconds that seemed to last twice a lifetime.

"You saw," he whispered shakily after a while in a way that made Blaine think that maybe he didn’t mean to say it out loud. "Do you really?"

The second murmur was louder, his pitch sharp and not steadfastly controlled as usual. That Kurt even felt the least bit comfortable speaking aloud at this point helped solidify Blaine’s conviction that it hadn’t been some offhand thing, and that he (hopefully) made the right decision.

Blaine nodded, then grunted as Kurt tackled him in a hard kiss and the blunt corner of the board dug into his side but he really couldn’t care less. He fucking loved  _Kurt Hummel_ , one of the most beautiful boys he’d ever seen as well as one of the most remarkable — in every aspect.

And now he could say it, sign it, write it,  _trace_  it, could communicate those three words directly instead of through implication. It was freeing rather than binding as he’d sometimes heard love being described.

Kurt found his tattoo, his fingers shockingly cool against Blaine’s heated skin, and he thought of anchors and how he, even so many months later, seemed to keep sinking into every inch and breadth of Kurt in so many ways.

"I’m sorry," Kurt mumbled, pulling back. Blaine whined and tried to reel Kurt back in but he shook his head, grinning. "I’m exhausted."

 **And a tease** , Blaine signed forcefully, nearly smacking Kurt in the face by accident due to their close proximity.

"Watch yourself, Anderson."

Blaine scrunched up his face in an exaggerated frown, at which Kurt promptly placed a quick kiss on his nose.  **Very badass.** He had to spell out ‘badass,’ but Kurt caught on quickly enough.

 **Fuck off** , Kurt signed, which happened to be a gesture that came extremely close to a punch in the face at such a short distance. “Shit. No more close-range signing.” He rolled back to his previous position and yawned as Blaine nabbed the board from between them.

 _You could have chosen a safer variation of that phrase_ , he wrote, completely aware that he was being cheeky.

"You could actually fuck off before I  _do_  punch you in the face.”

_You’d never._

"Try me."

 _I love you_ , Blaine wrote without hesitation, reveling in the simplicity of it. Kurt rolled his eyes and smiled.

"I love you, too, you adorable little fucker," he said, signing it for emphasis. 

 _How adorable will I be if I give you a lazy-day blowjob?_  Blaine was already setting the board aside as Kurt’s eyes went marginally darker in anticipation.

 **Please do** , he signed, positioning himself while Blaine did the same between his legs. Blaine cupped Kurt with his hand, squeezing gently as he leaned up to kiss Kurt, deep and excruciatingly slow, tongue teasing at the piercing there. Kurt broke it, saying, “If you fucking drag this out—”

Blaine raised an eyebrow as his hand found the button of Kurt’s jeans, popping it open (he’d been getting much better at since accidentally breaking the button on a different pair). His lips dragged down to Kurt’s neck; he sucked almost too hard on Kurt’s pulse point, his own jeans starting to get tight when Kurt whimpered brokenly.

He kept nipping and licking at the spot as he managed to finish undoing Kurt’s pants with some difficulty, fingers brushing unintentionally against Kurt’s cock through his navy briefs and causing Kurt’s hips to jerk slightly.

“ _More_ , fuck—” Kurt hissed. Blaine chuckled into Kurt’s neck, leaving a short kiss and a considerable bruise behind as he trailed his tongue down to his collarbones before sitting back on his knees to tug the jeans off of Kurt’s legs, followed by his briefs.

Blaine took a moment to simply  _look_  — Kurt’s blown pupils, heaving chest with the blackbird tattoo surrounded by blossoms, pink-streaked hair already beautifully tousled, a dusting of hair that trailed down to his cock, hard and flushed and rather enticing. But Blaine wanted to tease more, so he spread Kurt’s legs by a few inches and dipped into the crease of his thigh, cheek bumping his cock as Blaine nipped at the soft skin.

"God, you— Blaine," Kurt whined, the control lost from his voice; Blaine thought he sounded all the more amazing for it. "B,  _please_ , get your fucking mouth on me.”

Blaine bit the inside of Kurt’s thigh, drawing a high-pitched groan that went directly to his cock; he started to rub himself through his jeans to find some kind of friction as he mouthed at Kurt’s base, unwilling to start  _quite_  yet.

Blaine smirked as Kurt writhed, frustrated and panting in what must have been record time — not that he was in the mindset to pay attention to such mundane things as time. The ticking of the clock was as a single ant to the world surrounding, and embodied by, Kurt and himself.

Kurt, on the other hand, clearly had enough of a sense of time to growl out a plaintive “ _Blaine…_ " that had him finally grasping the base of Kurt’s cock and licking a broad stripe along the underside. Kurt moaned, a hand reaching for Blaine’s head, fingers tangling in the hair he hadn’t bothered to gel properly on a day like today. 

Blaine’s tongue caught on the ridge and he took the opportunity to slip the head into his mouth, hollowing his cheeks and glancing up at Kurt, whose other hand was fisted in his own hair as he threw his head back against the pillow, lips parted and skin flushed.

Steadying Kurt’s hips with one arm (though losing the desperate friction of his hand on himself), Blaine took Kurt deeper, deeper until the head hit the back of his throat and he nearly gagged. Kurt kept making sounds, from low, drawn-out moans to higher  _ah_ s in time with the rhythm Blaine started, bobbing his head and dragging his hand along the remainder of the shaft.

"Too —  _fuck_  — dry,” Kurt grunted, and Blaine pulled off to search for lube — but then he remembered that they were out and had been too lazy to buy more. So he licked the palm of his hand and returned his attention to Kurt’s cock; the slide was easier now, but he wanted to try something else.

Blaine took Kurt again, relaxing his throat this time as he tried to keep his breathing even through his nose so that the gag reflex wouldn’t kick in; his eyes watered, but he swallowed around Kurt’s cock and was rewarded with a keening moan. He looked up and met Kurt’s eyes briefly before Kurt threw his head back again, his arm over his eyes.

"Fuck, Blaine— Keep going, please—" Kurt continued to ramble, heedless of the way his tone wavered and sounding utterly wrecked because of it. And to hear him beg like this had Blaine moaning around Kurt’s cock as he swallowed again, and again until he was nearly out of breath and until Kurt was shuddering at the slightest touch. For good measure as he pulled off to breathe, Blaine reached around and grabbed Kurt’s ass.

Kurt gasped, wrapped his legs around Blaine so that his heels dug (somewhat painfully) between his shoulder blades. 

"Shit, I’m gonna— Gonna come,  _fuck_ , on your face please—”

Blaine licked a last, feather-light trail up Kurt’s cock and positioned it with one hand while reaching underneath Kurt with the other. It took barely a brush of his finger, dry, against Kurt’s hole and Kurt came with a relatively quiet  _ohgodfuck_  — all over Blaine’s face, ropes of come splashing against his tongue and cheeks and chin. He licked his lips out of instinct, finding Kurt’s taste and loving it.

"Love you," Kurt was saying as he came down. "Love you so much, B, wanna watch you come—"

Tightening heat that Blaine had barely noticed in his single-minded pursuit of Kurt’s pleasure became evident as it burned, white-hot and tight and urgent; he undid his jeans quickly to better reach into his briefs and stroke himself once, twice, until he came with a shout in front of Kurt’s watchful eyes.

"Fucking beautiful," Kurt murmured as Blaine stretched up the bed to lie next to him again. Blaine kissed him, felt the way Kurt’s tongue searched lazily for the taste of himself, the piercing sliding along the seam of his lips. "Not bad, pretty boy."

Blaine grinned, then took a finger, collected some of the come still on his face and sucked the digit into his mouth, all as he watched Kurt with wide eyes for his reaction — which consisted of a groan and another, deeper kiss that hardly lasted long enough for Blaine’s taste, but he knew Kurt had already been exhausted before this sudden escapade even started and likely wanted nothing more than to nap for a few hours.

Blaine was perfectly fine with that, as long as he was in Kurt’s arms. Or vice versa, however it happened. But first he had to change and clean up, so he gave Kurt an apologetic look and got a sympathetic nod in return (as well as a light slap on the ass after he turned around).

It wasn’t long before he ended up pressed close to Kurt (in his arms, this time — Blaine absolutely loved being the little spoon) and warm under the covers in that way that winter has of making warmth and the presence of another body the single best thing in the entire world.

Kurt’s fingers skimmed slowly over his tattoo, then trailed up his side to his shoulder. “Love you,” he mumbled once again, tracing a heart into Blaine’s skin before drifting off.

"I love you, too," he answered, and it didn’t matter that Kurt, being deaf as well as asleep, didn’t hear it. The plain fact that he could say it — in every way — was breathtakingly wonderful, not to mention almost unbelievable.

They might as well have been in a fairy tale, and for a second Blaine imagined ruling a kingdom with Kurt at his side and a Disney-esque, sarcastic blackbird on his shoulder.

He smiled.

He thought,  _Kurt Hummel loves me._

He fell into dreams.


End file.
